Soup, Please
by MeinBritishBroski
Summary: In which Romano catches a cold and Spain is the stupid jackass he's always been. Based off of a request, not sure if it meets expectations. Spamano. Yaoi. Rated for Roma's spicy Italian mouth. ;D


Spain entered the house, keen on seeing if Romano was feeling up to go out to dinner, he hummed to himself as he shed his jacket and shoes, practically singing as he skated down the hall with his socks on their wood floor. He reached the end of the hall to find that the door was closed firmly, he tried to open it, only to find that it was locked. Panic set in.

"Romano? Let me in, por favor! You're scaring me! Is everything all right? I was just w-"

Slowly, slowly, the door opened and a honey-colored eye peeked through the crack. It blinked slowly and skeptically. A nasily voice dragged on in a tired manner, "I don't want you to see me."

"Why?" Spain frowned, and made a move to open the door a little bit more so he could see the others face, the door narrowly missed his fingers when Romano slammed it and opened it again so he could see the Spaniard.

"I'm gross."

"You sound sick, Lovi."

"That's what I'm talking abo- ow! - my head hurts." Romano's hands jerked away from the door to clutch at his aching head and neck, giving Spain time to open the door all the way. He stepped forward and gingerly hugged the other; fully aware of how sore and stiff and uncomfortable he was feeling. Spain listened to his uneasy breathing from his mouth and loud, painful sniffling. Romano's eyes started watering ... he wasn't crying. It was allergies. Yeah.

Just allergies.

"C'mon, Lovi, let's go sit on the couch."

"I don't want to walk down there. It's too far. I can't."

Romano should've guessed from his smile what was going to happen. Spain picked him up bridal style, and for once, Romano didn't object, he just put his arms around the other's neck and tried not to sneeze on him - which was really hard not to do, what with his nose running and all.

-_I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate hate hate this fucking day-_

Spain deposited him on the couch and sat next to him, turning on the television and not seeming to mind when Romano draped his legs on the other's lap and used the armrest as a pillow.

"I could make you some soup." Spain suggested airily, waving his hands about.

"That'd be nice." he sniffed irritably, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Gross. Disgusting. Why did he have to get sick today? On a _Friday!_ Fridays were date-nights, cuddle-nights, stay-inside-and-watch-sappy-French-movie-nights (even though Romano _hated_ those... by 'hate' he meant 'love', no nevermi-). Spain gingerly moved the other's legs off of his lap so he could stand up.

While Spain was making the soup, he assaulted Romano with a series of syrups, pills, and vitamins. The syrups were too sweet, the pills wouldn't go down, and the vitamins had the taste and consistency of mother-fucking _rocks._

"Oi! Bastard! Are you trying to make me feel worse?"

"Lo siento... but you _will_ start to feel better in a few hours or so!" Spain insisted, hollering to him from the kitchen, "Do you want rice in your soup~?"

"Yeah, I want fucking rice in my soup." Romano spat, now choosing to stare at a spot on the ceiling in effort to stop the room from spinning around - he was feeling a little light-headed.

Eventually the stupid Spanish-bastard finished the soup and brought it over to him; the smell rising up from it made Romano's mouth start to water. He tried to grab the bowl and spoon from the other, but he was denied. Fucking hell!

"Tell me that you need me, Lovi."

Romano didn't know why - but it was suddenly like the soup was gold, or some other precious metal. He _wanted it,_ and damn it, _he wanted it right now!_ But fuck, if he told Spain that then he'd never live it down, his pride would all but shrivel up and die, the shred of dignity that had been spared when Spain carried him to the living room would most definitely hang itself.

"No. Give me the damn soup..."

"At _least _say please."

"Che cazzo? Please, then, bastard, give me the fucking soup!" he whined, kicking Spain in the thigh. Spain just smiled.

"That's not how you say 'please'. Come on, Romano, you learned this when you were just a little tiny toma-"

"Give me the god-damned mother-fucking shit-filled soup, _por favor!"_

Spain had a hunch Romano would heal up fast if he was strong enough to cuss like that. If he was feeling up to landing several punches to his boss's stomach, just to get a bowl of soup, then _maybe,_ just _maybe_ he would be up to-

"Gah! Stop touching my ass while I'm eating!"

Yeah... maybe not...

* * *

><p><strong>AN;  
><strong>Just because I've been writing a lot of DenNor does not mean my Spamano muse is dried up! xD; Ahhh... sorry to keep you guys waiting. I should have another Spamano oneshot up next week... perhaps a little smuttier.

I hate Dora... I hate Dora soooo much. _Mochila~ Mochila~_ My Spanish teacher randomly sings the backpack song for us when we're walking out the door.

Review please~ -because i'm a review whore-


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